


If Tomorrow Never Comes

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: In the immediate aftermath, with the gunman spirited safely away in the back of the police van and the bystanders pushed back to a safe distance, all Robbie wants to do is to get to James’s side in order to see for himself that the man is really unharmed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, and written pretty quickly in an odd burst of inspiration a couple of weeks ago - this has been sitting on my LJ for a few days but I thought I might transfer it over here too, as I have to accept that I'm unlikely to ever return to work on this further. Honestly, I suspect it might well be a bit OOC, though I do hope there is enough here for some readers to enjoy anyway.

In the immediate aftermath, with the gunman spirited safely away in the back of the police van and the bystanders pushed back to a safe distance, all Robbie wants to do is to get to James’s side in order to see for himself that the man is really unharmed. He can see the faint shimmer of his friend’s bowed blond head as James sits slumped on the back step of an ambulance, wrapped in a tinfoil emergency blanket and wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke – that distant glimpse isn’t enough, not even remotely. Not given how close they came to losing James entirely. 

James isn’t alone, at least. Lizzie is standing right where she has been since the hostage situation was resolved, thankfully without bloodshed, hovering over her boss protectively like some sort of dark avenging angel with her fierce glare keeping unwanted attention away.

Robbie sidesteps the milling coppers and ducks away from the flash of cameras going off behind the cordon, working his way closer to the ambulance with a skill built up over many long years of practise. He’s focussed only on getting to James, who looks so utterly lost and confused as he takes another long drag on what is doubtless a much-needed cigarette, but even with all Robbie’s skills and determination he can’t avoid their Chief Superintendent.

“Robbie, a word?” Moody’s tone leaves no room for argument, his hand firm when it captures Robbie’s elbow and draws him to one side, though Robbie twists slightly to keep James’s huddled form in sight as long as he can.

“Joe, with all due respect – ”

“Just a quick word, Robbie, I promise. I know you need to be with him.” 

‘Need’ is the only appropriate word, though it still doesn’t come even close to the burning desire running through every inch of Robbie’s veins. Christ, he’d been so sure they’d lost James. So sure he’d have to watch his friend be shot and killed right there in front of him, in the middle of Broad Street with a hundred curious pairs of eyes watching everything.

Still, the Chief Super can’t be ignored, and the quicker Robbie listens then the quicker he can be with James, so he forces himself to focus on the taller man. “What is it?” he barks impatiently, trying to soften his tone when he adds a belated, “Sir?”

Thankfully Moody makes no comment on his attitude, speaking quickly but quietly, with obvious relief underpinning his every word. “The paramedics have cleared James already – there’s not a scratch on him, thank goodness. He’ll have to see a counsellor, of course, but for now he’s just got a touch of mild shock. He doesn’t need the hospital but he shouldn’t be alone.”

There’s a question there as well as an implication, and Robbie meets Moody’s narrowed eyes squarely, nodding once in confirmation. “He won’t be alone.” As if Robbie would let the lad out of his sight again after the evening’s near-disastrous turn of events. “I’ll take him home, Joe, and keep an eye on him. Don’t you worry about that.” 

Moody nods briskly in return, releasing Robbie’s arm before matching him stride for stride as they cross quickly to the ambulance, just as James flicks the last of his cigarette to the ground. “You did well, James,” Moody says quickly before Robbie can get the first word in. James just blinks up at him in response, before his gaze drops to focus on the cobbled floor near his feet. “Take your time in the morning, okay? Come in whenever you’re ready. The reports can wait a while.”

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Robbie can’t help but be amused when Lizzie visibly bristles at the mention of paperwork at such a time, taking a protective half-step in front of her DI. When it becomes clear that James can’t or won’t answer out loud, Lizzie forces a polite nod and a clipped, “Thank you, sir.”

James’s face is eerily blank, his eyes flicking restlessly from side to side as he sits with elbows resting on knees and hands hanging limply towards the ground. Robbie kneels very carefully in front of him, distantly aware of Moody moving away to tighten up the scene and make sure all the relevant statements have been collected – it really had turned into quite the three-ring circus, with poor James right in the very centre of it all.

“James?” Robbie asks tentatively, ducking his head a fraction to try and make eye contact. “James, lad, are you with me?”

More blinking, slow and steady, but James won’t meet Robbie’s eye. He does manage a nod, thankfully, and up close Robbie can see that the younger man’s lean body is practically vibrating with tension, his skin worrying pale in the harsh fluorescence of the streetlights and the more intense light from the ambulance. There truly doesn’t seem to be a scratch on him, just as the paramedics had said, but Robbie knows from bitter experience that doesn’t mean James isn’t hurting inside.

The whole area suddenly feels too crowded and too noisy by far, and with the cordon still in place it feels uncomfortably like James is very much still the centre of attention. Robbie needs to get the man away from it all, and quickly, somewhere warm and quiet and safe. 

He’s seen James like this before, unfortunately, and Christ knows Robbie’s certainly been in a similar state himself once or twice after facing such a close call. Thinking he was going to die, only to find he had survived after all – for James there had been Kathryn Dutta with her needle and Babs Temple who had wielded her shotgun far too casually, and even Conlan Doheny pointing a gun at the pair of them in a sun-filled Oxford garden. 

And what makes it all so much worse this time is that Robbie knows James wouldn’t have been prepared for any of this. He would have been relaxed, his mental shields dropped – the three of them hadn’t even been on duty, just meeting up to get a few quiet drinks in the pub after a long day, cutting through the crowds all heading to watch the Christmas lights being officially switched on.

But this isn’t the place to focus on that. Not yet.

“Let’s get you home, hmm?” Robbie braces his hands on his creaking knees and pushes himself up to standing, relieved beyond measure when James also staggers to his feet, drawn up with Robbie almost instinctively. James sways slightly, lifting his head slowly, and Lizzie reaches out automatically to steady her boss. But James flinches away from her touch, and Robbie can only narrow his eyes in concern.

“James?” he asks again, and haunted eyes flick up to his face for a brief second before landing somewhere near his shoulder. “Come on, now. My car’s just over there.”

Walking a few steps backwards, Robbie waits until he’s sure James is following him and is steady enough on his legs, with Lizzie following closely behind him in turn, before heading straight to his vehicle. The glare he knows is on his face seems to part the remaining sea of police and even keeps the hovering local news cameras at bay, and in a matter of minutes he’s holding the car door open while James slides limply into the passenger seat, the emergency blanket abandoned to the floor.

“You’ll call me, won’t you?” Lizzie asks as she scoops up the foil, clenching it tight in her hands as if searching for something to hold on to. “If he needs anything? Or if – ?”

Robbie doesn’t bother with words and just pulls her straight into a bear hug, knowing she must have been every bit as terrified as him, if not more so. Lizzie’s arms come up around Robbie immediately in return, her hands fisting into the back of his jacket, and he knows he’s done exactly the right thing. It’s the very least he can do.

She’d been standing right by James’s side, waiting by the gates of Trinity College for Robbie to join them, when the mad man had first pulled a gun and pressed it to the back of James’s head. As first on the scene, it had fallen to Lizzie to try desperately to keep the gunman calm in those frantic minutes until specialist units arrived to take over. 

By the time Robbie had arrived it had become a full-on hostage negotiation, and he’d been trapped behind the hastily erected safety cordon, completely and utterly helpless to do anything but watch from a distance along with the crowds filming everything on their smartphones. It’ll be all over the twittergram by now – James will hate that, Robbie knows, almost more than anything else.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers in Lizzie’s ear, hoping his words offer some reassurance. “One nutter with a gun, desperate for attention. No one could have known about him and what he was planning, or done anything to stop it. You were bloody brilliant. And James will be just fine, promise.”

They cling to each other for another minute, then Lizzie is the one to pull back first, her dark eyes shining suspiciously brightly. “Look after him, Robbie,” she tells him firmly, and somehow it sounds more like a threat than when Moody had asked him.

There’s nothing more to be said. Trying to keep his own emotions in check for a little longer, Robbie hops into the driver’s seat, checking briefly to make sure James has managed his seatbelt, then drives them away from the scene as quickly as he can. In his rear view mirror he sees Lizzie standing there still, the foil blanket fallen to her feet once again, and he feels a short-lived flare of guilt for abandoning her to cope alone.

But James is the important one right now. James is the one who was held hostage at gunpoint for nearly an hour, paraded back and forth in front of the crowds for no good reason anyone has yet figured out. The gunman had ranted at the top of his lungs about everything from Brexit and Trump to housing benefits and the new series of Sherlock, keeping his handgun pressed tight to James’s head nearly the entire time, shooting into the night sky twice as if to prove he was serious.

James could have fought free, of course, heedless of his own safety, but he wouldn’t have wanted to risk the gunman shooting into the crowds instead. Now, he sits slumped and silent in Robbie’s car, his long body crumpled in on itself and hunched over against the window. Robbie doesn’t even try to make small talk as he drives, willing his hands to stop shaking, and he leaves the radio off too, preferring to listen to James’s unsteady breathing and steal sideways glances at his friend.

Long, elegant hands are twisted together in James’s lap, a restless knot of tension, as James worries his bottom lip constantly between his teeth. More blinking, faster now, and his narrow chest is heaving just a little too rapidly for Robbie’s liking.

James could be lying in the morgue right now – but Robbie’s brain shies away from the very thought, as if it might actually come to pass if he even pictures it for a second. James is alive. James is breathing. 

James is safe. 

Without any conscious thought, Robbie heads for James’s own flat, rather than the house he shares with Laura. Laura will know something of what’s happened, of course, since the local news cameras had been on the scene in seconds, sprinting towards danger from their positions waiting for some minor celebrity from Geordie Shore who was supposed to be turning on the Christmas lights – James and Lizzie had been teasing Robbie for weeks about the whole thing, all in good fun, and he’d half-expected they were planning to drag him along this evening rather than heading for the pub as planned. 

Robbie had sent Laura a quick text to let her know James was safe, but if he takes James home with him he knows she will hover and fuss, however unintentionally, and will smother James with her best wishes. And James is still so visibly tense that Robbie fears he might just shatter at the very first touch. 

Once they’re away from the tangled city centre, traffic is mercifully kind to them, and Robbie is even lucky enough to snag a prime parking spot right outside James’s building. He’s barely managed to put the handbrake on before James is unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door, practically falling from the car in his hurry to get inside as Robbie scrambles to keep up.

Once they are inside the flat, though, James’s brief burst of adrenaline seems to fade as quickly as it arrived, and he comes to a dead stop two feet beyond the front door. Robbie nearly slams straight into his back but manages to catch himself at the last moment, closing the door quietly yet firmly behind them, shutting out the rest of the world for a precious few hours.

“Sit down, man,” Robbie suggests, his hand hovering at the small of James’s back though he doesn’t dare make contact just yet. “I’ll put the kettle on?” He doesn’t mean it to be a question, but he’s nonetheless relieved when James nods his agreement and moves off towards his ridiculously large sofa, shedding his jacket and tie as he goes.

As much as Robbie is nearly desperate for something stronger and far more alcoholic, a good mug of extra sweet tea is what James really needs first. It’s what Robbie needs too, if he’s honest – the tension and fear are starting to hit home now. There will be time for whiskey or scotch later on, once they’ve both warmed up and unwound a bit, and once the tight knot in Robbie’s chest has loosened.

How very British, Robbie thinks with a grimace as he drops teabags into mugs and waits impatiently for the kettle to boil, resisting the urge to pop his head into the other room to check on James. James will be fine for a few minutes, surely. No gunmen lurking in the shadows of his flat. No press with cameras and questions.

Not wanting to startle James, Robbie makes a little more noise than he normally would as he hurries through the tea-making process, clipping his footsteps sharply on the bare wooden floor when he returns from the kitchen as quickly as he can. “There we go,” he announces, his voice echoing strangely in James’s under-furnished and high-ceilinged flat. “A nice hot cuppa.”

But to his dismay James still looks every bit as lost as he had done earlier, when he’d been sitting collapsed at the back of the ambulance, now sitting flopped back into the cushions on his sofa like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Robbie tries to nudge one of the mugs into James’s limp hands, finding no success, and eventually he places both mugs down on the coffee table before sitting next to his friend, leaving only a breath of space between their bodies.

Again, Robbie’s brain touches briefly on the thought of James not being there by his side, before skipping away in horror. The idea of James lying dead somewhere, his brilliant mind and generous spirit gone from the world forever, isn’t even worth thinking about. It didn’t happen. It won’t happen, not if Robbie has his way.

“It’s all over now,” he starts softly, trying to keep his voice level and calm in the hope of reassuring himself as well as James. “You’re safe. You’re alive. And no one else was hurt. Everyone’s okay.” 

James nods, then heaves an audible sigh, and Robbie’s worry starts to ease just a fraction. He’ll feel better when James starts speaking, but at least he seems aware and responsive, if still in shock.

His heart twists in his chest as he wonders what he should or shouldn’t say for the best. Should he tell James how utterly terrified he’d been, the moment he’d heard the screams and pushed his way through the crowds to see that gun pressed to James’s skull? Should he say that he knew how James must be feeling now, coming through something like that in one piece when he’d almost certainly resigned himself to dying there and then?

The two of them really don’t do this, the whole ‘talking it through’ thing. They’ve gotten better at it over the years, as they’ve grown more comfortable with each other, but at the end of the day they are still two blokes who don’t express themselves very well, not when it comes to their own feelings. Home and tea, then a drink or two; that had been the entirety of Robbie’s plan. That’s usually enough.

“James, look – ”

But James startles Robbie by turning abruptly and surging up from his slumped position, his hands coming up to cup Robbie’s cheeks as he brings their lips together in a desperate, crushing kiss.

It’s over in seconds. There is barely time for Robbie to register the fact that James’s lips are dry and cracked, and his hands are like two blocks of ice, and that James is actually kissing him and should Robbie kiss back or push him gently away – before James ends it as quickly as it began, shrinking back into himself and pulling his hands away as if burned.

“Sorry, Robbie, God, I’m so sorry.” The first words James speaks are barely more than a horrified gasp which nearly breaks Robbie’s heart in two. “I shouldn’t… I couldn’t, I had to…”

Robbie manages to force aside his own shock – did James really just kiss him? – and takes one freezing hand between his own, rubbing it very gently to encourage the circulation as well as reassure his friend. “It’s all right, James,” he soothes, relieved when his voice comes out steady. “You’re all right.”

But James keeps babbling, his words only just audible, full of apologies and half-explanations. “Sorry, I had to… I’m so sorry, Robbie, I know you know how I feel, but… You do know, don’t you? How I feel? I’m sorry, I just couldn’t… You know, don’t you? You have to know…”

Oh God, are they really going to do this now? After a night like this? Robbie takes a deep, measured breath and then says the only thing he can possibly say: the truth. “Yes, James. Of course I know how you feel.”

That seems to stop the litany for a blessed moment, before James visibly deflates by Robbie’s side. “I thought you did. But then I thought, what if you didn’t know? What if I died and you had no idea?” James shakes his head almost violently, his free hand flapping through the air in front of his face. “I’m not making any sense, sorry.”

“You’re all right,” Robbie says again, still rubbing James’s large hand between his own, watching the rapid play of emotions over the other man’s face. Fear, and shock, and longing, and then fear once again as James keeps talking, his words rushed but clearer than before.

“I felt certain I was going to die tonight. They say your life flashes before your eyes, but there was nothing but the lights and the crowds, and the gun. And then I saw you there, watching, and I thought…” James isn’t blinking at all now, and his eyes look red-rimmed and sore. A blank mask seems to fall over his face as he becomes lost in his own memories and stares off into space somewhere over Robbie’s left shoulder. “If today was all I had, and if tomorrow never comes, did you know? Carpe diem and all that.”

Robbie has always known; he’s a very good detective, and there have been times over the years when James has not been quite as subtle as he believes he is. Times when the younger man has dropped his guard just enough to allow Robbie a glimpse into his heart and his most deeply buried feelings. Little things he says. A certain look in his eyes.

But they don’t talk about it. For more than a decade, they haven’t talked about it. 

This is hardly the time or the place either, but it’s out there now, hovering in the room almost like a physical presence. Robbie has never wanted to address the issue of James’s love for him, knowing little good could ever come of it, and trusting that James has always understood Robbie’s own feelings. The last thing he wants is to push James away, or to break his heart. He values James’s friendship far too much to ever risk hurting him.

He lifts one hand away from James’s, careful to tighten his other hand around the younger man’s to keep him right where he is, and manages to tug the throw blanket awkwardly from the back of the sofa to drape it over James’s shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he tries to put his thoughts into words, and prays James won’t misunderstand; the other man is hardly in his right mind at the moment. 

Robbie’s not entirely sure he’s in _his_ right mind, either.

“I know how you feel, James,” he says quietly. “Of course I know. And I hope you know I’m deeply honoured? I always have been.”

But James doesn’t seem to hear him. “I love you. And I know you don’t – can’t – love me back, but I just had to tell you.” James blinks his visibly dry eyes at long last, tilting his head to the side, and Robbie sees the very moment something snaps back into focus. There is a brief flash of visible horror in blue eyes as James gasps again. “Oh shit. But I should never have kissed you. I’m so sorry, Robert, shit – ”

“Breathe, James. I’m not offended or upset, I promise.” Squeezing James’s fingers once more before letting him go, Robbie reaches with both hands to tug the blanket tighter around his friend’s shoulders, noticing faint tremors setting in as the last of the lingering adrenaline starts to fade away completely. James takes one deep breath, then another, and thankfully he doesn’t try to pull back, or to push Robbie away, though he looks almost as if he might at any moment. 

James is alive, when he so nearly wasn’t. James is sitting here by Robbie’s side, his heart beating and his brilliant mind whirring away, and the truth is that Robbie can’t imagine a world where that isn’t true.

If Robbie is ever going to say it, he knows that now is the time, so he takes another deep breath of his own before saying it as simply and clearly as he can manage. “I do love you back, James, as a friend. No, more than that – I love you like family, as a brother, even. I couldn’t bear to lose you from my life.” 

It’s the most honest he has ever been with James but he’s surprised by how remarkably good it feels to say it out loud, and he waits with baited breath to see how his honesty will be received.

There’s so much more Robbie could say. That James deserves someone better than him, someone who can love him back the way he truly deserves. That James needs to just get over it and find a way to move on. But life is never that simple, and love is deeply complicated, unrequited love doubly so. James won’t react well if he thinks he’s being patronised in any way, and Robbie hopes the younger man hears the truth in his awkward admission. 

To his immense relief, James’s lips twitch upwards in a half-smile, and some of the tension fades from his shoulders before he meets Robbie’s gaze properly for the very first time that evening. Robbie can see guilt in the depths of those unfathomable eyes, and the faint traces of fear still present, but there is also relief now. Relief that James is alive, perhaps, and also relief that Robbie hasn’t turned away from him in disgust after his impulsive kiss.

“Thank you,” James breathes, and Robbie knows in his gut that those thanks are for more than just his words. With a nod and a smile of his own, he reaches over to snatch up one of the cooling mugs of tea rather than trying to find words to reply, forcing it gently into James’s hands. It’s the mug with three heaped spoons of sugar, though whether or not that’ll do any good now is a whole other question. It certainly won’t hurt.

“Drink all of that, now,” Robbie orders with a reassuring smile, and James immediately takes an obedient sip, wrapping both hands tighter around the mug as he cradles it close. “Then it’s a hot shower and bed for you, I think. And I’m going to go make sure your spare bed is still made up from the last time I stayed over.” He stands, stretching his tense muscles carefully, and nearly misses James spluttering out his next sip of tea.

“You’re staying?” James sounds simultaneously so surprised and also so incredibly grateful. “Even after…?”

“Aye, even after.” Robbie hesitates for barely a second before pressing a chaste kiss of his own to the top of James’s bowed head, his throat tight with emotion as he adds, “I watched him hold a gun to your head, bonny lad. I thought for sure I’d lost you, and the thought nearly killed me too. You can’t scare me away with a kiss after a night like that.”

They might have to talk about it tomorrow, after some much needed sleep for them both, or perhaps they won’t. Perhaps it might be better to forget it ever happened, however unhealthy that might seem to some. They can simply chalk it up to the emotion of the night. Robbie can’t bear the idea that things might be awkward between them in the morning, not when James has been lucky enough to survive such a horrific evening, and overanalysing things won’t help him recover.

James is the one who might overanalyse everything, of course, but Robbie will do everything in his power to reassure the man. Hopefully he’s already managed that much. And if tomorrow truly doesn’t come, for whatever reason, at least they both know exactly what they mean to each other, though they’ll almost certainly never say it out loud again.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited to add a missing word - thanks to Willowbrooke for spotting it! And that's why I should always get my work looked at by a beta...


End file.
